Remnant of Power

Chapter Forty-eight

Timod

Timod walked off towards the encampment to tell the men to sleep before the evening attack. Halfred followed him. "Does it look as hopeless to you as it does to me?" he asked.

Timod shrugged, then gestured to the camp. "These men must believe that we've a chance of winning. We'll act as though we mean to win. There's no other choice." Not for me either, he thought, taking a gulp from his water skin.

Shortly before midnight, a third of the men and Ithrim set off towards the river to soak themselves, their clothing and the catapult carts. But by the time they'd marched to the city, Timod's clothes were nearly dry again, except for his boots which squelched each time he put his feet down. Scanning the gates in front of him, Timod took a deep breath, and ordered the eight blacksmiths to lift huge rocks on to the catapults. With each hit the gates trembled slightly. Halfred gave the command to the archers and volley after volley of burning arrows launched into the darkness. Smoke began to rise from behind the walls. The blackness of the night was filled with arrows flitting like fire-flies and the sound of missiles clanging against the iron gates. In the midst of the frantic action, and the stench of smoke and burning flesh, Timod stopped for a few seconds to look over beyond the men. As he squinted his eyes in the gloom he saw Mother Gradeth. She was sitting in front of the city wall, singing! And Hirnan was standing next to her, doing nothing.

A bolt of fury shot through him; here were the men, risking their lives, trying to bring down the gates, and Hirnan had told him to put his faith in a singing old woman! Blood rushing to his face, he raced to Hirnan and grabbed his arm. "What on earth are you doing, man? We need action, not sitting around! The time for thinking is over! Get on with bringing down the wall, or getting over it, or whatever you're meant to be doing!"

Hirnan flinched, as if woken from a deep sleep. He looked up at Timod, then pointed at Mother Gradeth and put his finger to his lips. "Shh!"

Timod struggled to stop himself from slapping Hirnan. The Ithrim straightened his shoulders, and laid a hand on Timod's shoulder.

His face was stern as he spoke, "Timod, you don't know the ways of the Dryads, or the Ithrim. What the men are doing is right, and you must go back to leading them, but what she is doing is also right, and you must trust that what we are doing will be fruitful. Mother Gradeth is not finished yet, go back and don't let the men see that you are doubting us."

Realising there was no point arguing, Timod cracked his knuckles, then turned and ran back through the ranks of men to where Halfred was standing, shouting instructions and encouragement.

"Where've you been Timod, man? Look at the gate, on the left, we've almost broken the top hinge. But look at the price," and he waved to the broken bodies of men on the ground. Timod was grief stricken as he grabbed his bow, turned and ran to the oil mixture and lit it, then fired it over the wall. He wove back through the mass of archers to Halfred. Just as he reached his friend Timod saw Mother Gradeth walking toward them; she'd finished whatever she was doing next to the walls.

Hirnan called him, "Timod, we've finished, give the order to retreat!" n on the flo]5